A Conard County Courtship. Rachel Lee
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The return...
Vanessa Welling never planned to leave home...until her family fled in shame in the wake of the financial catastrophe that shattered their town—and her father’s will to live. If it weren’t for the wreck of a house she just inherited, Vanessa wouldn’t have come back, either. And attractive contractor Tim Dawson and his young son are making it even harder to put the Wyoming town behind her once and for all.
Tim has heard the stories. But Vanessa did nothing wrong and shouldn’t spend the rest of her life paying the price. Can’t she see the positive effect she’s having on the single father and his son? That they have the right stuff to build a future? And Conard County is the perfect place to start over!
“Already?” She frowned faintly. “Here or the motel, huh?”
“Well, I have a guest room if you’d rather. No problem for me.”
The offer was out before he knew it was coming, and then Matthew seconded it. The idea of having someone new in the house seemed to appeal to him.
Vanessa’s hesitation seemed obvious. Matthew was already running on about how they could read his library book together, but she had drawn away. He could feel it. Pulled back into herself.
“Look,” he said finally. “I’ll guide you to the motel if you want, but like I said, mostly truckers and transients stay there. This house is okay if you want to stock it up. I was only thinking about you being here alone if the blizzard gets bad. You’d be stuck, and the phones aren’t working.”
He could swear she felt torn in a bunch of different directions. But then she surprised him.
“If you’re sure I won’t put you out…”
That settled it, he decided. A night or two. As soon as she’d made her decisions about the house, she’d drive away.
Matthew was ecstatic. Tim watched him with a faint smile, but once again reflected on how much that boy must miss having a mother. He hoped a couple of days wasn’t long enough for him to fit Vanessa into that role.
* * *
Conard County: The Next Generation
A Conard County Courtship
Rachel Lee
RACHEL LEE was hooked on writing by the age of twelve and practiced her craft as she moved from place to place all over the United States. This New York Times bestselling author now resides in Florida and has the joy of writing full-time.
Contents
She never expected to find a man in the house. Vanessa Welling stood on the wet sidewalk between two low banks of melting snow and looked at the house she owned but didn’t want. The hatred and pain that rose in her had been planted nearly twenty years ago by the man who had lived in that house, the man who had destroyed her family, and she’d like to set a match to the whole place.
She’d tried to get out of it, had argued with the lawyer who had called her to tell her it belonged to her. Unfortunately, Bob Higgins had deeded it over to her before he died in prison, and the really odd thing—to her, at least—was that he was free to do that even if she didn’t want it. She couldn’t refuse it. She couldn’t give it back, and right now she was responsible for the taxes on the place. She would remain responsible for them and any code violations or fines until she managed to dump it.
Her stomach burned, her eyes felt hot in her head and everything she had tried to bury was rising sickeningly inside her.
Had that man thought this was some kind of atonement? Because it wasn’t. No house could give her back her father or the years lost to his alcoholism. No house could give her back everything else that had been ripped from her at a tender age, wounding her in ways that remained with her.
She had never wanted to see this town again. She remembered how her father felt the people here must be judging him, thinking him a fool for having lost his ranch and every bit of savings to Bob Higgins. His bitterness had branded itself in Vanessa’s heart, and her mother hadn’t done much to erase it. Belinda Welling had been quieter in her response, but despair had filled her days. Her husband’s alcoholism had overwhelmed her, and Vanessa felt that in many ways she had had to raise herself.
Now here she was, owner of the house that had belonged to the beast who had destroyed everything, and she had to at least see to fixing it up enough that she could sell it. Get rid of it. Remove any demand that she ever return here.
The street was quiet, but it was early on a Monday afternoon. Kids in school, parents at work and weather less than hospitable.
The key in her hand felt acidic, hot, as if it would eat a hole in her palm. She wanted to fling it into the snow.
Just get it done, she told herself. Just walk in there, face the memories that lurked and would probably pounce to remind her that this had once been a favorite place of hers to visit. She’d arrange whatever needed to be done, then get the hell out of this town before the whispers started, before people began to ask each other if that was Milt